Crawl Out Through The Fallout
by foolycoolie
Summary: Todd didn't actually think one of his deliveries would get him killed. He also didn't think that he would come back from the dead, or that a detective would hire him to help solve his own murder. (Fallout: New Vegas AU)


The air is warm and surprisingly still. The last bits of colour have long since drained from the sky, leaving only a dark blue void above. It's an evening in late October, and five men are standing in a graveyard. As morbid as it sounds, this marks the end of a journey, a long journey spanning almost the entire west coast, a lot of money, and a lot of dead people along the way. It was the end of this quest, but also the beginning of something greater. It's a evening in late October and five men gather in a graveyard not to pay their respects, but to bury a man. To them, it was the end of an era and to their credit, it was. What happened that night would change everything, but fate deals the cards as she chooses. What happened that night would change everything, but not necessarily in the way they intended. 

* * *

"You got what you were after, so pay up."

"You're crying in the rain, pally."

The first thing Todd notices when he wakes up is the god awful ache in his neck. The second thing Todd notices when he wakes up is that his hands are bound. His immediate reaction is to start yelling, but he realises someone's taped duct tape over his mouth while he was unconscious. Any cries for help fizzle out before they can ever leave his mouth. Even with blurry vision, he can make out three figures standing in front of him. Two of them are in typical raider gear, but the guy in the middle is wearing a fur coat. Really he used the term 'fur coat' loosely as it was so big the guy looked like he might get swallowed up in a sea of white fur. There was a lit cigarette between his fingers, and he was furiously whispering to one of the goons. None of them have noticed that he's woken up yet. Todd kept tugging on the rope restraints on his wrists, trying to see if there was any give to them, if he could break them or slip out of them.

"Guess who's waking up over here?"

He tenses up almost immediately, his next breath lodging somewhere in his throat. He slowly looks up at the three men, trying to make his movements as small as possible. The man in the fur coat took a hit from the cigarette before dropping it into the dirt, extinguishing the embers with the sole of his shoe.  
"Time to cash out."

Todd thinks it was somewhere around that moment that he realized the gravity of the situation he was in. Most likely because this was when his brain started yelling at him _Oh my god you're gonna die, these guys are gonna kill you, you're gonna die, you're gonna die._ He kept struggling with the restraints, this time with intensifying urgency.

"Would you get it over with?"

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?"

The man in the fur coat takes a step closer to Todd who freezes again. The two make eye contact and the man slips a hand into his coat. He pulls out a poker chip, painted an unusual platinum colour. It glints softly, illuminating the embossed details of a roulette wheel on the face of the chip. _Shit, he has the platinum chip._ Todd makes a desperate attempt to try and grab it despite the aforementioned bound hands but his legs are too weak and refuse to move when he asks them to. All he manages to do is just kick up dust, irritating the back of his nose. _Just great, Todd. You've already been kidnapped, tied up, got the sole item you were meant to deliver stolen and now face certain death, and now also you can't sneeze because you've got duct tape over your mouth you goddamn idiot._

"You've made your last delivery kid." The man in the fur coat has an accent that Todd can't place on anywhere that he's been before. He's certainly not from around this part of the wasteland, maybe from the east coast. He places the platinum chip back into his coat (Todd contines to kick himself mentally for losing it) but his hand stays there, searching for something else. _Please don't be a gun please don't be a gun please don't be a gun._

"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He draws a 9mm pistol out from the coat, metal gleaming in the lantern light. Shit. _Of course he has a gun,_ his brain continues to berate him, _how else did you think they were gonna kill you?_ Despite that the man in the fur coat was apologizing, there wasn't a hint of sincerity. He sounded more like he was apologizing to a sick animal before he put it out of its misery. The two raider goons seem to shift around when he pulled out the gun, whether due to anticipation or uneasiness, Todd wasn't sure. He tries one last attempt to get out of the restraints and make a run for it but to no avail. It appeared that the universe wasn't going to let him get out of this one.

He was always aware that he was gonna die. Not in the way that he consciously knew his own mortality and that everyone dies at some point. Todd knew that his death would go something along the lines of this. He was never gonna die just of old age, having lived a complete and fulfilled life. He would bleed out after losing an arm or a leg in a fight with a deathclaw, he would mouth off to a Legion soldier or NCR ranger at the wrong time, he would step too close to a trip mine he never saw on the road. He would have his delivery stolen, his job ruined, and his corpse left in a shallow grave. Despite the fact he had no control over his own inevitable demise, he hoped that the final moments of his life would be memorable. Rewarding, even. He glanced up, past the man and his raider goons, out towards the horizon. He could make out a cluster of neon lights in the distance, a halo of light pollution against the night sky. The New Vegas Strip glowing in all its glory, an eternal testament of a world saved from nuclear fire. He had never visited the Strip, but the sight of it filled him with a warm glowing nostalgia. The knowledge that it had lasted this long and continued to last, even if he wasn't, was oddly comforting in this turn of disconcerting events. Todd thought of his sister, and hoped that she would forgive him for this.

The man in the fur coat points the pistol at him, aiming directly for Todd's forehead.

"Truth is… the game was rigged from the start." 

* * *

The next thing he remembers is light, white light. His ears are ringing, the reverb echoing back and forth. He's not really sure of much aside from that there's something solid underneath him. He blinks once, blinks again, but his eyes won't focus on anything. Light just keeps pouring in with no form or shape and it _hurts_ like this is the first time he's opened his eyes. He closes his eyes, trying to shake off the ringing. When his vision finally manages to clear, he's staring up at a dingy ceiling with a fan softly whirring. Now that the blurriness and the buzzing was gone, he becomes acutely aware of the excruciating headache right at the front of his head. Kind of felt like he had been shot in the head. _Hang on…_

"Well, you're awake. How about that."

Todd turns around, trying to find the source of the voice, but in doing so his vision just blurs again and the headache flares up. A hand grabs his shoulder, centers him upright. The world aligns itself again to reveal a man sitting in a rickety chair in front of him. His hair is white and balding, the creases in his features a testament to the number of years he's seen. Todd thinks of his parents, how close they might be in age to this man. The thought strikes a solitary chord in his chest, a old feeling he buried so long ago he's forgotten the name of it. He decides to ignore it for now and focus on the physical, the mattress creaking under his weight, the scratchy dryness in the back of his throat.

"Woah, easy there kid. You've been out cold a couple of days now. Just focus on getting your bearings."

The room they're in is a decent size but relatively empty. The cot that Todd is sitting on is shoved up in the very corner, right next to a dusty window filtering in sunlight. Behind the old man, he can see a surgical table with some tools left on it. He can only assume that he was lying on that table recently, walking the thin line between life and whatever comes next.

"Let's see what the damage is. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?"

The question startled him from his thoughts, so much that it took a few seconds of panic for him to remember. "It's, uh, Todd. Todd Brotzman."

"Huh. Can't say that's what I would have picked for you. But if that's your name, that's your name." The old man leans back in his chair. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."

Goodsprings. Todd was familiar with the name, a small town just north of the Mojave Express head office. He had visited it a few times before on small deliveries but never stuck around for long. At least whoever those guys were who shot him didn't dump him in the middle of nowhere.

"Now I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework, but you'd better tell me if I left anything out of place." Doc Mitchell reaches under his chair and grabs a small hand mirror, passing it over to Todd. He had been mentally preparing for his bit, but in all honesty he didn't know what to expect when he saw his reflection. His hair, previously unruly and curled at the ends, has been hacked back severely so that he can see the damage in full unobscured view. Just off the center of his forehead, two small puckered round wounds. Small ridges indicate there was a couple stitches there but the skin was still inflamed, an angry raw pink colour. No matter what he could tell himself, Todd can't deny how obvious they are, or the bile rising in his throat. Bullet wounds never healed, not really. He would always have these two scars on his forehead, a testament to what had happened that night. It would never be let down, that Todd Brotzman took two bullets to the head and _lived._ It seemed that he was tougher to kill than he thought.

He silently passes the mirror back to Mitchell. He doesn't mention the wounds or where his hair went or how tired he looked. Mitchell seemed to pick up on the uneasiness, mumbling an offhanded comment about getting stuff that mattered right as he stood up from his chair.

"Okay. No sense in keeping you in bed anymore. Let's see if we can get you on your feet." Just as Todd was about to sink back in the mattress, Mitchell reached out to grab both of his hands. Todd let out a heavy breath but slowly pulled himself up off the cot onto his feet. His knees started to buckle and legs almost gave out when he loosened his grip on Mitchell, slipping forward quickly and uneasily but he stopped himself before he met the floor. Apparently in the handful of days he was bedridden, he had forgotten how to use his legs. _Although that's probably just a result of the bullets to the brain._ He feels like his head's been scrambled, put through a blender on the highest speed possible. He focuses on getting his balance and tenatively takes a step forward. He takes another, and another, until he's no longer holding on to Mitchell and his legs aren't completely numb. He stretches his arms out above his head, hearing his back pop. The mattress certainly wasn't the most uncomfortable thing he's ever slept on, but it wasn't the nicest ever. Todd turns his head around to notice a folded set of clothes on the edge of the mattress, and his worn out leather boots sitting neatly by the foot of the cot.

"Those clothes are for you, so the locals don't get annoyed at you for lacking modesty. Figured they were about your size too. Feel free to get dressed, then come find me, I'll see you out." Doc Mitchell walks out of the room, leaving Todd on his own. He quickly looks through the clothes he was given; just a thin flannel shirt and dark slacks. They were practically a perfect fit for him, oddly enough. Mitchell had mentioned he guessed the size but Todd could have mistaken these for his own clothes if they weren't such good condition. He chalks it up to a coincidence, quickly shoves on his shoes, and wanders out of the room into a hallway. Mitchell was standing at the left end of the hallway in front of the door, carrying something in his hands.  
"Here. These are yours. Was all you had on you when you were brought in." As Todd approaches him, Doc Mitchell holds out a knapsack made from worn canvas and a cowboy hat. Ah, he hadn't lost his hat. That was nice. He was rather attached to his hat. He takes both the knapsack and the hat and immediately puts the hat on, tilting down slightly to cover the wounds on his forehead. He quickly scans through the sack's contents; a handful of bottle caps in a plastic bag, a couple of stimpaks, a revolver, some ammo and a note. Todd checks the chamber of the revolver (empty) before pocketing it with some of the ammo and putting on the knapsack. "I hope you don't mind but I gave the note a look. Thought it might help me find a next of kin, but it was just something about a platinum chip."

Todd freezes up. The platinum chip. Whoever those guys were, they had stolen the platinum chip off him, the platinum chip he was meant to deliver to the Strip. He would have gotten 250 caps, one of the biggest payments he would have received in months. 250 caps was enough to repair his decaying revolver or get enough food to last him for a month. Decent food as well, not just brahmin meat that tasted like leather when cooked. Shit, he could even have bought good alcohol. Instead, here he was. No money, no delivery, nowhere to go.

"Well, if you're headed back out there, you ought to have this." Mitchell picked up some kind of metal gauntlet contraption off the shelf next to them, holding it out towards him. "They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of them vaults they made before the war. We all got one. Ain't much use to me now, but you might want such a thing, after what you've been through. I know what it's like, having something taken from you." A pang of guilt shoots through Todd from the sheer sincerity in Mitchell's tone. He had never met the man before, but Mitchell was still helping him, giving him clothes and a _goddamn Pip-Boy_ as if saving his life wasn't enough. The Pip-Boy was much lighter than he anticipated and fit snugly onto his forearm. The display glows dimly, struggling to life after years of disuse.

"I reckon some of the fellas at the saloon might be able to help you out. And the metal fella, Victor, who pulled you outta your grave."

Todd clears his throat, struggling to convey his thoughts while staring at the Pip-Boy on his arm. "Thanks, Doc. You know, for patching me up, and all the extra stuff. You really didn't have to do all this so uh, thanks, really."

Doc Mitchell gives him a half smile. "It's what I'm here for. Anyway, if you ever get hurt out there, you come right back. I'll fix you up. But try not to get killed anymore."

Todd smiles for a split second at the quip. "Wasn't planning on it," he mumbles under his breath before he pushes the door open and steps outside. 

* * *

It's immediately bright, brighter than he was expecting, and his eyes take a few seconds to adjust. Goodsprings is just as tiny and quiet as he remembers it. A couple of run down houses, the general store and saloon in the middle, surrounded by hills on all sides. Just a sleepy town where nothing unusual ever happened.

He had taken a few steps down off the veranda when he realised his major problem. He didn't know what to do now. He wasn't really expecting to still be alive after what happened that night and he had very little leads on where to go from here. Mitchell had mentioned checking the saloon and a robot who apparently pulled him out of his grave (he was trying to ignore that one for now), but Todd still had other questions. He didn't even know why the platinum chip was so important, why those guys were after it, why they were perfectly willing to kill him for it. His employers certainly hadn't mentioned that it was important or anything, it was supposed to be just another ordinary delivery. Certainly no mentions of impending death. He had joked about it before, but Todd had never actually thought one of his jobs would get him killed.

His feet start to move of their own accord across the town center, past the general store and saloon and paddocks of roaming bighorners. He vaguely knew the path he was taking, straight up a small hill with a barbed wire fence surrounding the summit. If he wasn't already sweating under the morning Mojave sun, he was by the time he reached the top. Stuck to the fence was a rusted sign with peeling paint that had clearly seen better days. _Goodsprings Cemetary, circa 1890._

He wasn't sure what specifically had brought him here, to the place where he had died. He was currently standing in front of his grave, the shallow hole they dug out before executing him. The events from that night kept playing in his head, the same 2 minutes on repeat over and over always ending in the same words. _The game was rigged from the start._

Todd didn't believe in fate, not really. Fate, in any case, usually came from the barrel of a gun. Still he felt like there was some reason he had been brought back here, as if the universe was trying to tell him something. He didn't believe in fate, but it seemed that there were bigger things planned for him still. And yet, as he stood there by his grave, for a second he felt like climbing back in.

It was the light tap on his shoulder that scares him out of his thoughts. He wildly spins around, swinging his arm in case it finds purchase on anything. It did collide with something but before he can figure out what it is, he's stumbled backwards and fallen into the hole also known as his grave. The impact knocks all the air from his lungs and sends him into a coughing fit. The sun ends up right in his eyes and momentarily blinds him. Todd tries to get back up on his feet, acutely aware that someone else was coughing too.

"What the hell, man?"

There was a man standing in front of him. Tall and lanky, neat hair, currently cradling the side of his face (presumbly where Todd had hit him). He was wearing a blue Vault-issued jumpsuit, although the top half was unbuttoned and tied around his waist. Instead, he also had an a dress shirt, patterned tie, and a leather jacket in an obnoxious shade of mustard yellow. He was staring at Todd with a degree of hurt behind his bright blue eyes. Everything about him was peculiar.

"What, no, you what the hell? Were you spying on me?"

"I wasn't spying on you."

"Then why are you up here?"

"Why are you up here?"

The other man visibly stiffens up, and Todd folds his arms across his chest, giving a pointed look.

"I'm… investigating. Investigating a very top secret and serious case."

Todd raises an eyebrow. He recognizes this guy is trying to bluff his way out of the situation and doing a terrible job.

"A case, huh?" He muses, stepping up out of the grave. "So what are you, like a detective of some kind?"

"A holistic detective, actually." The man says, smiling. His accent is strange, nothing like Todd's ever heard before. He wondered if it had something to do with the Vault jumpsuit he was wearing. "However, I'm not the important one in this situation." He walks over to Todd so they're toe to toe, making Todd _consciously aware_ of how much shorter he is compared to this guy.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out what role you play in this story." He's studying Todd's face with a unsettling intensity. "Have you seen anything strange lately, or been at the center of any strange events? Like you knew exactly where your life was going until suddenly it's been thrown completely off course?"

"Uh…" Todd is lowkey beginning to panic at this point, cautiously trying to take a step back in case he needs to make a run for it. Thankfully, the man has seemingly found his answer and moves out of his personal space.

"Like I said before, I'm a detective. I'm on a case." He's smiling again, almost beaming. "A couple days ago, there was a murder here. In the middle of the night. The body was found in the morning with no evidence of the killers."

Oh god. Of course. Of course, of course, of course this guy is investigating the murder, _his murder_. Todd has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from blurting out something dumb and regretting it.

"And now you're here, alone, at the scene of the crime. See, it's all very suspicious. But you are definitely involved in this, I know it." His face lights up and he gasps, like he's had an epiphany. "Perhaps you were the one who found the body. Do you know where the body is?"

Todd lets out a heavy sigh and nudges up the brim of his hat, revealing the two wounds on his forehead. The expression on the man's face morphs from a smug delight to slowly dawning realisation over a couple of seconds.

" _Oh._ "

"Yeah."

They're both silent.

"Hang on, if you're… if you got... then shouldn't you be…."

"Dead?"

"Yes."

Todd sighs again. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Silence again. "So how are you, you know… not dead?"

"Apparently a robot dug me out of my grave and the town doctor patched me up."

"Oh. I'm sorry." The man sounds rather meek, trying to verbally tiptoe around the topic. Todd looks down at his feet, kicking the dirt around into the air.

"Look, don't apologize, okay. It's not your fault that this happened. I was just up here, I'm not even really sure why. It just felt right, like the universe was telling me to." When he looks up again, the man is standing next to him, in the middle of wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He gives Todd a faint smile.

"Well, good news, I figured out what your role is."

"What?"

The man jumps around in front of him, smile even wider. "You are officially my assistant."

It takes a couple seconds for Todd to process this, but when he does it elicits a _tch_ noise from him. "Dude, that's not how it works."

"What do you mean?" His smile drops off slightly and his eyebrows furrow together.

"Your case is me, right? I can't help you solve my own murder. That's just not how it works."

"True. However, you are still alive. Therefore, you are a perfectly viable candidate for assistant. As well as the only candidate."

Todd shakes his head, toeing the dirt. A lot of weird shit had happened the last few days but this guy, he was easily the weirdest thing.

"Still, that's not the point." The man steps in closer to Todd, just barely, but enough for Todd's breath to get caught in his throat. "Once I take on a case, I'm intrinsically connected to it. Everything in the universe is interconnected, one thing always leads to another. I will eventually solve it by studying the patterns between causes and effects... and also just kind of doing whatever."

"That just sounds like you're an incredibly lazy detective."

"Everything is connected. The clues will come together and eventually, the case will be solved." He places a hand hesitantly on Todd's shoulder. "I will solve it." The man repeats at a lower octave, an affirmation between both of them. Todd chews on his bottom lip and slowly nods once.

"I'm Todd."

"Dirk Gently. It's lovely to make your acquaintance." The man who was now known as Dirk beamed at him and Todd did his best to half ass a smile back.

"So then, do you have any leads?"

Dirk's smile falters. "Oh. No. I don't."

Of course. Todd lets out a half sigh and weaves his way around Dirk, heading back down the hill.

"Where are you going?" Dirk calls out.

"I'm gonna go talk to that robot. Figure out where those guys who shot me went." He yells back, not stopping or turning his head to see where the other man is.

"Great plan, Todd! You're being an excellent assistant so far." He can hear scrambling footsteps behind him, presumably Dirk trying to catch up with him.

"I'm not your assistant!" He calls back, thinly veiling an annoyed huff. This delivery was going to be longer than he anticipated.


End file.
